


The Heart of a Home

by virdant



Category: Glee
Genre: Baking, Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 16:37:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13035168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virdant/pseuds/virdant
Summary: Blaine invites himself to Sebastian's apartment, grocery bags in hand, to bake gingerbread in Sebastian's kitchen.





	The Heart of a Home

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays! I wasn't sure if I was going to get something out, but luckily Pannchi is very understanding and literally sat next to me while I typed this out. For the 2017 Seblaine Snowball (prompt: gingerbread).

“Hey.” He was being shaken, and Sebastian absently swatted at the low voice. “Hey, do you have baking sheets?”

“What?” he mumbled into his pillow.

“I’m going to check.” There was a quiet creak of the door hinges, and then soft pattering as Blaine—it was Blaine’s voice—came back and murmured, “How do you not own any baking sheets?”

“Don’t bake,” he managed.

“Alright.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Go back to sleep.”

Sebastian went back to sleep, and woke up several hours later to the sound of the front door slamming shut as Blaine let himself back into his apartment, arms full of grocery bags and a vaguely guilty expression on his face. He yawned, blinked, and said, “Did you just buy me groceries?”

“It’s hard to shut a door silently when your arms are full,” Blaine replied, sheepishly, which didn’t actually answer Sebastian’s question. “How do you not have anything in your fridge?” he asked, which was a little closer to answering Sebastian’s question, but not quite the ‘yes’ that he was hoping for.

Sebastian yawned again, pulling on a sweater to accompany his sweatpants. Finals week had just ended, and he had planned on sleeping 24 hours to catch up on the multiple all-nighters he had pulled. He had expired milk, a bag of wilting spinach, and a frozen pot pie somewhere in the cavernous depths of his fridge. He peered into the pantry and found the jar of coffee beans, empty. “I hope you bought me coffee,” he finally said.

Blaine reached into a bag and pulled out a fresh bag of his favorite dark roast.

“Have at it,” Sebastian said, snagging the bag and turning to the grinder. He ignored Blaine’s muffled snickers as he busied himself with acquiring coffee, letting the ground percolate on the stovetop as Blaine emptied the other bags. Coffee in hand, he hesitated before skipping over the liquor cabinet and settled, hip against the counter, as Blaine turned to his cabinets, opening them one by one on his quest to take over Sebastian’s kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Sebastian finally asked, inhaling the steam before sipping the scalding coffee.

Blaine hesitated.

Something familiar from earlier this morning rattled loose with the caffeine. “Are you baking in my kitchen? What’s wrong with your own?”

“You have a nicer oven.” Blaine bent over the ingredients. “Mine doesn’t keep temperature properly.”

“So you just invited yourself over?” he groused without heat. “What are you making anyways?”

“Nick’s having a Christmas party later tonight. Thad volunteered me to make gingerbread cookies.”

“And you just listen to what Thad says?”

Blaine raised an eyebrow, and then remembered that Sebastian had, in two short months, overthrown the council and installed himself as Captain of the Warblers. “Some of us listen to former council members,” he finally said. He pulled up a recipe on his phone and frowned. “Where do you keep your saucepans?”

Sebastian pointed to the cabinet.

He pulled it out, setting it on the stove, melting butter. “Besides, I told Thad that you were going to help me, so now you don’t have to bring anything.”

“It takes ten minutes to swing by a liquor store on the way to Nick’s place.” 

Blaine gave him an expression he had learned to recognize as indulgent exasperation. “All you have to do is stand there and look pretty.”

Sebastian sipped his coffee and said, “I’m always pretty.”

“And modest too.”

“Flaunt it if you’ve got it.”

Blaine snorted, stirring sugar and spices into the butter. “You don’t have any issue with that.”

Sebastian smiled into his mug, watching Blaine transfer the mixture into a mixing bowl he had unearthed from the depths his kitchen, before setting to whisking dry ingredients together. He had clearly taken stock of Sebastian’s kitchen before going shopping, because he had a new bag of flour from the store, but had found Sebastian’s half used box of baking powder and was scooping a teaspoon of that. “How long did you spend in my kitchen this morning?” he asked.

“Long enough to learn you don’t have any baking sheets.”

“Nick stole them last time he was over.”

“And you let him?”

“I planned on filing a police report after finals ended.”

Blaine leaned against the counter next to Sebastian, nudging him with an elbow. “You just wanted him to stop baking on his shitty baking sheets.”

“Are you saying I care for Nick Duval?”

“I think you care about the quality of the scones during monthly Warbler brunch.”

“Good thing you said that, or I would be suing you for slander.”

“It’d be too much trouble,” he said knowingly, grinning up at him. “And the Warbler group chat would give you too much shit.”

Sebastian turned to his coffee, already half-empty. “Your cookies aren’t baking.”

He turned, checked his butter mixture, and cracked an egg into it, all while Sebastian watched over the lip of his mug. He mixed the dry ingredients in, divided the dough into two thick rectangles, and wrapped them before popping them into the empty fridge, before turning to the clutter on the countertops. 

Sebastian drained the coffee and set it in the sink, nudging Blaine aside. “Figure out what we’re doing for lunch.”

“I made this mess,” Blaine protested, not leaving the kitchen.

“You said I was helping, didn’t you?” He shoved up his sweater sleeves before surveying the mess, dumping the bowls into the sink to soak while he restocked his fridge and pantry. Blaine had bought more than just gingerbread cookie ingredients. “This can be my contribution.”

“Cleaning up my mess?”

He started washing dishes. “Pour yourself a cup of coffee, you addict, and decide where we’re going for lunch,” he called. “I know you have yelp on your phone.”

“I bought bacon and eggs.” He poured himself a mug of coffee. “Toast, too. We can make brunch at home.” He eyed the kitchen, Sebastian elbow deep in suds as he scrubbed the molasses mixture out of the bowl. “Or we can go out to that bistro you like. The dough has to rest for at least an hour.”

“Bistro it is. Where’s the baking sheet?”

Blaine pulled it out of the bag and passed it to Sebastian, who gave it a cursory wash before setting it aside. “Sebastian,” he said.

“Anything else to wash?”

“Sebastian.”

He turned off the tap and turned.

Blaine smiled at him, quiet and fond. His cheeks were flushed from the cold outside, but his eyes were quietly pleased. “Merry Christmas,” he said.

“It’s not Christmas yet,” Sebastian responded, automatically.

He shook his head. “You know what I mean.”

Blaine, in his kitchen, gingerbread dough in his fridge, kitchen restocked after an arduous finals week, all without him having to set foot outside. He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel—patterned with fir trees—new from Blaine’s impromptu shopping trip this morning. He had gotten more than he needed for just a batch of gingerbread cookies at Nick’s. He called Sebastian’s apartment _home_.

“I asked you to move in a month ago,” Sebastian said.

“Merry Christmas,” Blaine said, again.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to follow me on tumblr ([@virdant](http://virdant.tumblr.com)) if you want a lot of grousing about writing, videos of whichever song has caught my attention now, and occasionally a reblog of a gifset. happy holidays!


End file.
